Blade breaker, p.47
Blade Breaker, page 47
Sorasa rolled to her feet and sprinted, not toward the undead wave or the hounds approaching, but to the gate, charging after the horse.
Screaming, Corayne leaned back over the mare’s flank, stretching out a hand for the assassin as the archway passed overhead. But Sorasa ignored her, going instead to the gears of the portcullis. With a kick, she loosed the mechanism and the iron bars fell into place, slamming shut inches behind the horse’s tail.
Everything pulsed, flaring with the rhythm of Corayne’s own heartbeat. Her mouth closed, her eyes still wide, as she watched the gate get smaller and smaller.
Sorasa’s figure turned her back, blade and whip raised. Her shadow ran long against the road, guttering with the flames, twisting and dancing, all her lethal grace on display. Hounds yelped and undead moaned, but the portcullis never rose. The gate remained shut. The road guarded, the realm of Infyrna contained.
And Sorasa with it.
Corayne was alone, a mad horse beneath her, galloping with all the speed of the four winds.
The Cor road ran hard along the coast, turning to packed dirt as the horse carried them away from Gidastern. The cold blue sea crashed to her left, kicking up frigid spray. Corayne trembled, her face wet with the sea and tears. For once, saltwater brought her no comfort. Weeping, she raised her eyes to the sky and realized she was out from under the smoke, with gray light above her.
One last snowflake landed on her cheek, shivering her spine.
Her throat burned, ragged from the smoke and her own anguish.
Without warning, the horse slowed, blowing hard, its flanks dark with sweat. Up close, it seemed a common horse, a simple gray like the winter clouds. She tested the reins, trying to pull it around, but the horse held firm, stubbornly faced away. Corayne glared at it, cursing whatever Valtik had done to make the horse disobey her.
She felt sick and looked out at the empty landscape. There was only coast and dead farmland. Another graveyard, she thought, looking over her shoulder.
There was no one on the horizon. No one at the gates.
Not even Charlie.
She heaved a painful breath and wiped her face, her hands coming away black. Then, with a will, she unbuckled the sheath from her back, bringing it forward. Shivering, she gripped the black leather of the Spindleblade’s hilt and drew an inch of the blade, the steel clean. Taristan had not drawn blood this day. Even so, the sword felt wrong in her hand. Again she mourned for the blade broken behind her, and all the people with it.
A failure, she thought, choking back a sob.
Andry’s voice answered in her head, his words an echo.
Not if you live.
And that, at least, she could do.
32
The Flames of Asunder
Ridha
Her breath came in wet, heaving rasps. Blood bubbled up in her throat as it did from the wound in her chest, her life slowly seeping out into the street. The black knight was long gone, riding away after the dragon, but he left so much deadly evidence behind. Ridha’s eyes rolled as she tried to move, her back flat against the ground. The other Vedera lay dead around her, their bodies still and quiet. The Jydi were gone too. Moaning low in her throat, Ridha saw Lenna crumpled against the city wall, her eyes open but unseeing.
The Temur woman still drew breath. She was propped up against a wall, her wounded leg stretched out in front of her. A large ax lay broken at her side; her chest rose and fell with labored breath. Ridha saw no other wounds on her. She almost laughed. A mortal lived where so many children of Glorian had died.
At least there is still Dom.
He crawled through the wreckage of the black knight, a belt lashed around his thigh to stem a bleeding wound. She tried to smile at him but only gasped, choking on another wash of blood.
“Don’t speak,” he said, reaching her side. With a hiss of pain, he set himself upright and pulled her head into his lap. “I’m here.”
“So is she.”
The white light of her mother’s sending glowed to Ridha’s left. If it was magic or a hallucination, Ridha could not know, but she was glad for it either way. Isibel’s form wavered and then went solid, edged with a silver glow as she bent over her only child. She wept shimmering tears that disappeared before hitting Ridha’s face.
“I wish I could be with you,” her mother said, hands running over her face. No matter how hard she tried, Ridha could not feel them. “Sleep, my love.”
She wanted to do as her mother told her, but Ridha of Iona clung to life, fading as it was. Her gray eyes wavered between Isibel and Domacridhan, trying to hold them both. He looked down at her, fresh tears coursing over his dirty cheeks.
The footsteps were faint, boots ringing on stone.
“Would you like to see what this Spindle gave me?”
Dom’s face crumpled above her and he spun, trying to stand. But he collapsed on his wounded leg, dropping again, holding his body over Ridha’s. Defending her from one last insult.
Taristan’s cloak and clothes were burned, black all over, but his face was clean, his hair slicked back. The wizard limped at his side, leaning heavily on a makeshift crutch. Neither looked particularly pleased, in spite of their victory.
The Spindle was still open, the realm still ready to fall.
Before Dom could try to strike again, Ronin snapped his fingers, and a half-dozen undead surged forward, chains and bindings in hand. The same approached Sigil, tying her wrists and ankles before lifting her clean into the air. Both fought, but weakly, utterly spent by the battle.
Sound faded in and out, matching the beat of Ridha’s slowing heart. She struggled for another second, another breath, eyes on her cousin as the undead bound him.
Then Taristan stepped between them, his leering face the only thing she could see.
“Another gift of What Waits,” he said, standing over her like a tower, his eyes red as beacon fire.
Ridha cursed in Vederan. At her side, Isibel’s sending flared white-hot with rage. The Monarch glared at Taristan, and Ridha dearly hoped this was truly her mother, and not some illusion born of death. See what he is—see what must be fought, she wept in her mind.
Taristan only shook his head. “You immortals take a long time to die,” he muttered, before drawing a dagger.
Isibel wept too. “Sleep, my love,” she begged.
It was the last thing Ridha heard as the blade plunged through her armor, into her heart.
But the last thing she saw was Taristan, the son of Old Cor, bent over her body, his eyes a burning blood red, yellow at the irises, like the heart of a flame. The eyes ate up the world, until she tipped forward, falling into the fire he now carried in his ruined soul. It consumed her, every inch burning, the pain like nothing she had ever felt before or would ever feel again. It was acid; it was boiling water; it was an inferno in her skin. Ridha of Iona hollowed out, her mind and soul torn away.
Her limbs moved, one hand twitching, then the other, even as her grasp on life disappeared. Ridha’s soul pulled away, disappearing, leaving her body behind. And all went black.
Acknowledgments
I feel so lucky I get to keep writing, and luckier still to continue this series. Realm Breaker continues to be my joy in difficult times.
As always, forever, my first thank-you goes to my parents. Without them, my words wouldn’t exist. I don’t know where I’d be without their support, and frankly, I don’t want to think about it. I’m indebted to my brother as well, my first captive audience. Sometimes literally.
To my extended circle of friends and family, thank you for your constant support. Morgan, Jen, and Tori, my dearest ladies, you never let me fall down and you never let me slow down.
At home, my partner and my pup, Indy, are always there for every high and every low. You make the sun brighter. I love you both so much more than you’ll ever understand. Mostly because one of you is a dog.
I’m just as blessed to have a wonderful circle of publishing friends who keep me honest, in check, and just sane. To the Patties, to Soman, to Sabaa, Adam, Jenny, the East Side LA Coven, Emma, thank you for your friendship and guidance.
They say it takes a village to raise a child, and it certainly takes a village to publish a book. My own village happens to be spectacular. Alice continues to be my fearless editor, ready to tackle all the wild chapters I throw at her. Thank you to Erica for your wisdom and support. And so much love to Clare for staying on top of everything. To Alexandra, Karen, and Lana, thank you for making all of it work. To Vanessa and Nicole in production, thank you for making all of this real. To Jenna and Alison in design, thank you for making this beautiful. To Audrey, Sabrina, and Shannon in marketing, thank you for making this connect. To Jenn and Anna, thank you for making this known. To my sensitivity readers, who made this thoughtful. To the Epic Reads crew, thank you for making this fun. I am so indebted to all of you, and know how much you’ve done to make the Realm Breaker series the success it’s become. And for all your continued work on our first baby, Red Queen.
I feel overly blessed to be represented by New Leaf Literary, and especially Suzie Townsend. She has been my north star since the beginning of my career, and I hope I never lose sight of her. Thank you to Pouya, for never giving up on anything ever. To Jo, for her boundless vision. To Veronica and Victoria, for all the globetrotting, as well as my foreign agents around the world. To Hilary and Meredith, who feel like my own personal safety nets. To Kendra, Sophia, and Katherine, who never miss a beat, and keep this whole thing running. Thank you to Elena Stokes, for holding my hand down a new path. And to Steve, my legal shield and friend. On the entertainment side, thanks to Michael, Roxie, and Ali. You guys elevate me to new heights; I’m so grateful to keep working with you all!
Most of all, I must always say thank you to the readers, educators, librarians, bloggers, Instagrammers, TikTokers—thank you to everyone who picks up a book and passes it on. You are the reason our community exists, and why we continue to thrive. Writing and reading feel like a solitary endeavor, but it isn’t one, because of you. Your continued support means more than I can say, because you make me who I am. I’m so grateful to keep writing stories for you, to live in your head as you live in mine.
All my love, forever,
Victoria
About the Author
Photo by Lucas Passmore
VICTORIA AVEYARD is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Realm Breaker and #1 New York Times bestselling Red Queen series. She lives in Los Angeles, where she works as an author and screenwriter.
You can visit her online at www.victoriaaveyard.com.
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BLADE BREAKER. Copyright © 2022 by Victoria Aveyard. Map art by Francesca Baraldi. Map © & ™ 2022 Victoria Aveyard. All rights reserved. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover Art by Sasha Vinogradova
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022931760
ISBN 978-0-06-287266-1 — ISBN 978-0-06-325344-5 (special ed)
Digital Edition JUNE 2022 ISBN: 978-0-06-287268-5
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-287266-1
2223242526PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Victoria Aveyard, Blade Breaker
